


The Bright and the Twice-Living

by RedLlamas



Category: Bright (2017)
Genre: ;), Drinking, Falling In Love, Licking, M/M, Nick Jakoby-centric, Pheromones, Prophecy, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scents & Smells, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, Synesthesia, knight in bloody armor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLlamas/pseuds/RedLlamas
Summary: It seems that Nick will forever be haunted by the scent of the bright light that entered his life. Not like he minds.





	The Bright and the Twice-Living

Orcs have evolved to depend on scent. Ever since they broke out of the side of The Mountain as newborn babes, they’ve had to smell their way around the world. Water is the most easiest recognizable scent to them, followed closely by forest fruit and leaves. A thousand years, and in the middle of Los Angeles, Nick can smell a pine tree from several miles away.

Every being has a distinct smell. Orc children learn to instinctively pick up on its parents’ scents. Parents give off a pheromone that’s activated in times of distress to shield their children with their own scent. Partners smell like each other after a night of passion or after a bout of jealousy or protection. A house with orcs smells like an unholy concoction of odors and sweat.

Nick lived with orcs, and the constant symphony of scents was simply a normal part of his life. Once he began to ebb into the human world, he was assaulted left and right by unknown perfumes and colognes. Humans like to hide themselves behind flowers and spices, and while Nick can recognize the certain flower, it’s difficult making out the real person underneath.

Working alongside Daryl, he’s gotten first-hand experience in detecting his true aroma. It’s something like aftershave and coffee, clean. Daryl likes to hide behind Vince Camuto. He didn’t think Daryl was that type of guy, to flaunt himself, but here he is, and Nick can’t help but breath a little deeper when the wind kicks in.

He doesn’t feel comfortable with the way that he’s starting to learn Daryl’s scent. One day, during training with the centaur unit, Nicky was able to pick out Daryl’s scent from the other side of the camp. He was a hundred yards away.

Daryl has become a safe place for him, in his mind. Smelling him is a comfort after a long day, but Daryl is hesitant to make friends with him, even after what they went through.

Oh, Jirak. That was absolute hell. Calling it an ordeal is underselling it. He doesn’t know how they managed it, how Daryl did turn out to be a holy man in waiting. The fact that the Fogteeth gang are now loyal to him astounds him. On an afternoon, making the usual rounds, he saw a graffiti of him in tattered, bloodied clothes with a halo, with the words “Deliverance Hath Come” framing him. Daryl thought it was funny interesting, and drove on by.

He didn’t think of himself as holy. Daryl was the Chosen One. _He_ was the Bright.

  


If Daryl thought anything about the fact that Nick has gotten physically closer to him in the past few weeks, he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe he understands.

But of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know that the way he smells is the only thing that makes Nick feel safe, that gives him a breath of fresh air, that Daryl smells like hope in the dark (there’s a reason they’re called _Brights_ ).

  


One of the ruffians they had apprehended refused to speak in English and would only speak in Orcish. Well. Speak is a soft word. He would yell in Orcish. Nick was finally given the opportunity to demonstrate yet another reason why having orc cops was a good move.

The orc, Ulrich, was being hunted down by Daryl with Nick following close by, calling for back-up on his radio. He was just a petty thief, but he had stolen a very important jewel.

Daryl managed to corner him in an alleyway, and Ulrich stopped and turned to face him. Daryl had a hand out to him, one hand on the holster of his gun. Nick was near him, waiting.

Ulrich grabbed a nearby trash lid and charged towards Daryl, knocking him over. Nick reacted, grabbing Ulrich by the shoulders and moving him away, away from Daryl, who seemed to be bleeding from his head.

Ulrich seemed to recognize him. His eyes got wide, and he began barking, “You’re, you’re the orc!”

“What orc?” Nick snarled. He’d pinned Ulrich against the dumpster. He shoved him again.

“The one who resuscitated! You’re the orc, and he must be –” Ulrich explained, tapering off when he got a better look at Daryl, who was getting up and radioing down the back-up.

“The One…”

Nick rolled his eyes, grimacing a bit. He didn’t want people to know that a human cop was a Bright, specifically the one with the Lazarus orc as a partner.

“I heard that the new leader of the Fogteeth was the resuscitated one, so that means that you’re…”

Nick hadn’t noticed, but Ulrich got a good whiff of the two of them. His breath faltered, and his heartbeat quickened.

“What? Scared I’ll call my men for this?” Nick said sardonically. He heard the radio answer back with an affirmative.

“You’re with the Bright!”

Nick stopped. He raised his brows.

“He’s my partner.”

“The Prophecy said that the Bright would pair with the twice-living, the one who was sworn to protect the Light! That’s _you!_ You have lived twice!”

Ulrich’s eyes had lit up while he spoke. Nick was lost in confusion. As the patrols neared, and as Daryl put Ulrich in the back of the car (he didn’t fight back this time), Nick could only look at Daryl with a longing that put Sappho to shame.

Driving back to the station to make the write-up, Nick glanced back at Daryl. He hadn’t heard that part of the Prophecy, only that Daryl was a holy man and that he was sworn to protect him. Now that he knew that he was already sworn body, mind, and soul, he didn’t know what to do.

Daryl seemed happy, about catching Ulrich. Sure, they hadn’t taken down a tough gang of criminals today, but they had restored the Brandt Emerald. It costs a fortune, more than they’ll ever make in a decade.

Daryl smelled sweet and happy. It was intoxicating. Nick felt himself unwillingly slipping even further into his spell.

Not like he was going to do anything about it.

  


Apparently, word had gotten out about how the second part of the Prophecy has also been fulfilled. Nick knew this because the next time they had cornered a group of assholes, one of them, the orc of the group, told them that it was the Bright and his mate. His _mate_. Nick got annoyed at this, and threatened to shoot them if they don’t stop “whispering like old grandmothers.”

This backfired on him, seeing as how now they began reprimanding each other for touching the twice-living’s mate. Nick couldn’t really complain, because while this was a tactical advantage (being the leader of the Fogteeth gang + being the Twice-Living + being a fucking cop = fear being struck in the hearts of evil), it meant that everywhere he went, people will know that he’s bound completely to Daryl, and that he’ll do anything to protect him. Anyone can do crazy things when they’re in l–

No.

No he’s not.

He just,

He just likes the way Daryl smells.

And they’re friends, and friends always have each other’s backs, always.

  


Sometimes, after a good week, Daryl’ll take him out to drinks. To celebrate. And to bond. And to teach Nick some fucking manners because seriously, his orc sensibilities? Can’t work in the human world, you get me?

Nick has always been a cautious drinker. He’s usually been the designated driver back when he was growing up, seeing as how he was. Well, _different_. But Daryl said that he’s buying drinks for the entire station, and that he’ll drive Nick home, so Nick threw caution into the wind and drank a bit more than he was used to.

The room becomes vapors and colors in a few drinks.

Daryl is a steady presence, outlined by his blues, a hazy image of swirls.

Nick is smiling, at nothing, and yet at Daryl, but he doesn’t notice. He starts giggling. He’s in love with his partner. He couldn’t get more cliched.

And yet here he is, and there goes his head on top of the countertop.

Daryl shakes his shoulder. “I think it’s time to go home now, Jakoby.”

He whines, muffled by the wood. Daryl laughs at him. Nick feels his stomach tighten at the sound. He did that.

He lifts his head to look into Daryl’s eyes, squints, and nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I can’t even see straight anymore. Daryl, why do you call me Jakoby?” he asked as he slowly got up. He took a step back, and staggered downwards.

Nick managed to stop his face from meeting the floor, propped up on all fours, but had to lower his head. The room won’t stop swirling.

“You alright there?” Daryl’s worried voice asked from up above.

“Too many swirls,” Nick offers. He sits and grabs hold of Daryl’s outstretched hand, gently getting up, bit by bit.

He doesn’t realize that he’s on one knee, holding Daryl’s hand.

Douglas starts cooing at them, and that’s when it hits Nick. He quickly gets up, suffers from a headache, and tries to find the exit with his eyes closed. Daryl takes pity on him, and silently guides him out.

  


Daryl had rounded up a couple more other cops to go home, those already on the threshold of a blackout. They piled in the back of his car, with Nick riding shotgun. Ha, riding.

It seems that Nick is the last to be dropped off. He only knows this because the concoction of colognes in the car swiftly diminishes.

Daryl has to help him out the car. Oh Daryl. Sweet, kind, loyal Daryl. Daryl with the chocolate brown eyes, Daryl with the soft sunset skin. Daryl with the clean smell of aftershave and coffee. Who knew those could intoxicate him faster than the alcohol.

He’s being led by the hand. He can’t really see where he’s stepping. He bumps into Daryl when they reach his door, and when Daryl turns around asking for his keys, Nick gets a whiff of Daryl. He closes his eyes and leans in to him, trying to capture as much as he can.

“Whoa there,” Daryl says, chuckling nervously, patting his shirt pockets, trying to find the keys. Nick buries himself in Daryl’s neck, trying to get closer to the Bright.

Daryl’s hands stop moving when Nick decides it’s a good idea to lick a strip of his neck. Nick’s hands circle his waist, pulling them close, and Daryl’s heart races against his chest.

Nick’s too preoccupied leaving a hickey in a fairly visible spot to notice that Daryl found his keys and was stepping away from his arms.

Nick reluctantly let go.

The last thing Nick remembers is seeing Daryl with a halo of arousal and nervousness.

  


Nick woke up with the sun in his eyes and a pounding in his head.

He lifted a hand up to his forehead, but stopped. His hand.

It smells like Daryl.

  


It seems that Nick will forever be haunted by the scent of the bright light that entered his life. Not like he minds.

  


The next time he licked Daryl, he was allowed to do so, and with it, was allowed to drown as much as he wanted into the arms of his chosen saint.


End file.
